Atlas
by L. C. Whitcroft
Summary: The curse of the worgen is a double-edged blade and no one knows this better than Bran. Faced with the startling realization as a child of just how much a pariah the alliance considers his people; he sets out to prove himself as a man and ends up understanding the horde more than he would have ever dreamed possible. Rated M for certain graphic scenes planned. Rough draft mostly.
1. Chapter 1

******Author's note:**There is nothing in the Warcraft lore to suggest the worgen life is not extended by the curse. Genn Greymane should be 80-90 years old yet he acts like a spry 20 year old man. Because of this I have taken artistic liberties and assumed that the curse of the worgen would be treated like any other. As with other races I am going by a lifespan chart from WoWwiki. On the subject of intercourse and procreation I have also had to improvise as there is very little to no lore on such matters. If you have thoughts on this, please share with me in a message! Anything else I've gathered from the defiasrp site such as physiology and psychology. **This story is set years after MOP.**

_I wish I knew then what I know now_  
_But I'd probably do the same_  
_I get the feeling it's planned out _  
_from the cradle to the grave_

_Sometimes the weight is more than I can hold_  
_But I'd rather fail then never really know_

_If it takes forever I will die trying_

_- Art Of Dying: Die Trying_

* * *

He sat his empty tumbler down on the table with audible force; it was a known sign he wanted a refill. The innkeeper obliged within minutes, but when she did not immediately return to her post behind the bar; the seemingly young man looked up at her with drunken laziness.

"I'm thinking you should probably turn in after this one, don't you?" The innkeeper coaxed with her free hand on her hip.

Bran gave her a crooked smile and nodded slowly. He rarely did anything in his free time anymore except occupy his usual spot near the fire at the Stormwind Inn. He'd become somewhat of a fixture and the owner served him well into each night out of respect for his time spent enlisted in the guard.

He was a quiet man; more apt to sit in silence and reminisce on the past than carry the other patrons in a tune or brawl with a fellow drunk. No, Bran preferred to be left to his own brooding and especially on this night. Tonight was the would-be anniversary for _her_.

His father had always warned him that he was too soft on matters of the heart and it would be the end of him one day. A muffled snort escaped him and he scratched his beard in thought. He'd been not yet a man when he'd acted on his feelings and confessed to his childhood friend that he loved her. She was the daughter of a known tailor in their small hometown in Westfall. A burly man who looked more suited to run a blacksmith forge than sew linen shirts. Her mother was an elegant enchanter who almost never spoke and sold her talents and wares in the tailor's shop.

Elsie had been a tomboy growing up. She threw her lot in with the other boys and helped them wage make-believe war against each other with sticks and mud packed rocks. At sixteen winters she had started to look ravishing and everyone noticed. Gone were her chubby child cheeks and wild hair that refused to be tamed by her mothers brush. The boys were now edging towards being men and squabbled over who would be the one to marry her. Bran knew they didn't stand a chance. He and Elsie had made a pact the day Bran's mother had passed from sickness. When the time came, he would rescue her from this life and take her adventuring across the waters. They had only been ten winters old each and none the wiser to the politics of men.

Bran gazed off into the fire in the hearth, giving into the full weight of the memory.

* * *

___"We should just run away together!" Elsie exclaimed before returning to kissing Bran._

___He pulled back from her lips and tried not to frown."I wont do it that way. Your family would disown you. I intend to join the Stormwind guard, Elsie. Your father has to see the honor in that and grant us permission." Bran urged, more for himself than for her. Elsie's father was very strict and set on what type of man Elsie would be given away to. The tailor wanted his daughter to marry up in station so that her life would be easier, as would her children's._

___Elsie bit her lower lip and her brows furrowed. "Oh Bran... This is why I love you. You always look to do the right thing. I'm afraid that even the right decisions aren't enough to move a mountain. My father is just that, a stubborn mountain." Her hands played at the back of his hair, weaving long strands in between her fingers. She picked a few pieces of hay from it before laying her head back down and closing her eyes. They laid naked together for a short while more before shaking the evidence from their clothes and parting ways._

___That had been it. The last time they would ever see each other. Bran had gathered his courage and asked her father for Elsie's hand that evening. Her father had reared back and punched Bran square in the face. Before the stars had left his vision, Bran was sent tumbling out of the Tailor's front door and it abruptly slammed. He'd gone home in a whirlwind of confusion to nurse his bleeding nose and bruised ego. Bran's father, Dredrick had been in the middle of trying to get the story from his son when there was a knock at their front door. Elsie's father stood there, almost blocking out the moonlight over his shoulder with his massive form. Dredrick had taken the brunt of the man's anger over a "filthy worgen" accosting and man handling his daughter in secret._

___Dredrick, a broken man since his wife's death, had backed down from the confrontation and agreed to keep Bran away from Elsie if only the tailor would not call the guard. Bran raged from the kitchen through his broken nose and had met the fiery expression from his father. Bran had never done anything to Elsie that she had not consented to, but the tailor accused otherwise._

___The next day Bran watched as trunk after trunk of Elsie's things be loaded into a horse drawn wagon. The prejudiced tailor was vacating their small town for that of the mighty Ironforge. He had been offered a job in the great city a week back and had decided to accept in light of the recent events. That was all Elsie could divulge before her father barked the order for her to get in the wagon. Bran's heart ached as Elsie climbed atop her things and sat on one of the trunks. Her eyes never left his as her father loaded her mother into the seat beside him and commanded the horse forward._

___Only after Elsie and the wagon were gone from sight did Dredrick clamp a hand upon his sons shoulder in an effort to console the torn heart. Humans were fearful of the curse and how it was passed from one person to the next. While the Gilnean worgens were welcome by the alliance, not all shared this welcome with positive feelings. Mothers and fathers did not want their children contracting such a dark shadow upon their soul. Dredrick and his wife had found out first hand how it could be passed to the unborn. No unafflicted human wanted to take the chance of their children being born with the curse. _

___When Dredrick opened his mouth to suggest time would heal, Bran tore from his hold and disappeared in the line of trees. ____That night he had completely changed for the first time. Bran met his beast within head on and filled with pain._

* * *

Startled, Bran was pulled from his thoughts when the innkeeper refilled his glass once more. He'd emptied it sometime during his reverie and had failed to notice. He glanced up to the innkeeper, knowing better than to speak and his slurred speech give away his current state.

"Let that last one bring you sleep against whatever ghost haunts you." The innkeeper nodded, a knowing look on her face. She patted his shoulder a few times before disappearing to the kitchen area.

Bran watched her walk away. She did not know the irony in her words. It was not the ghost of Elsie who haunted his dreams and caused him so much inner turmoil these days. He had grown past the pain of a first love lost. Bran was certain she had married a wealthy bachelor and given him glorious raven-haired children to which they provided everything young hearts could have desired. The ghost that plagued Bran was a bitter memory. One that lead his gaze back to that of the hearth; the fire small now that patrons had mostly turned in for the night.

* * *

___Bran had found that if he threw himself into enlisting with the Stormwind guard that it provided something in the horizon for his heart to set itself upon. Two of the boys he had grown up with and called friends joined him to prove their worth and make their own way in life. Rorick was a skilled hunter and had an uncanny knack at training hounds. Gaeb was quite lecherous with women but hit with iron fists and swung a mace with ten times the strength. His temper was also not to be toyed with. All three worgen boys, now men, soared to the top in their training. Bran had proved adept in the areas of stealth and lie detection which garnered him extra attention from his superiors._

___Freshly sworn under oath to protect and serve Stormwind, it's people and the commands of King Varian Wrynn himself, the three young men spent a few nights of drunken partying to commemorate their accomplishment. It was expressly stated by their commanding officers to enjoy their fort night of leave. War was raging in faraway lands and none of them could be sure they would ever experience such free reign again._

___However confident, Gaeb had used his money he won playing cards to pull three spinsters from the brothel that night. Bran found himself with quite a curvy wench trying to seduce him into one of the inns rooms. Remaining polite, Bran had brushed off enough of her flirtatious assaults to drive her into Gaeb's already filled lap. Rorick's face seemed to stay flushed as a feisty redhead whispered things into his ears. As the night progressed on, Gaeb retreated to his room with a woman on each arm, both filled with boisterous ____laughter that continued on behind closed doors. Rorick had nodded to Bran before heading in a similar direction with the aforementioned redhead trailing close behind him._

___"Why do you not partake?" A soft voice behind him probed lightly._

___Bran turned to face the woman. She was clothed in a common dress with a heavily stained apron atop it. He watched her small hands busy themselves dry cleaning tumblers, tankards and shot glasses. "Partake in what? The women?" Bran asked, his brows raising as if this woman should already know of his personal taste._

___"Of course. What else do you think I ask about?" She licked the corner of her mouth as an afterthought._

___Bran could see it was an obvious tell. She would be terrible at playing cards. With that in mind, he smiled and sat in his chair backwards. It was easy to read her face and find that she fancied herself a fair ways apart from most others. He found himself wondering just how different or similar she truly was. "Loose women are not something I've ever considered a viable option." He rested his chin on his arms which draped across the top of the backrest. It was a pose that made him look even younger than he was and women loved it. Or so Gaeb told him._

___The barkeep exploded in warm laughter that tossed her head back, causing her rich chocolate curls to bounce. She shook her head once she had recovered from the outburst. "Compared to what, my good sir?" Her playful tone was accompanied by an arched eyebrow._

___Bran stood and closed the distance between the bar and himself. He flashed her a genuine smile and then let his expression drop, becoming quite serious. The barkeep responded in kind, her hands pausing on the current glass. Bran took a second to look around at the scarce few that remained. One was snoring against the back wall and the other was buried in a book, clearly a night owl. __"____To that of many nights receiving a warm bed with a mate between the linens." He finally stated._

___The barkeep's mouth fell slightly open and her form went rigid. Bran leaned forward and tapped one finger under her chin. She cleared her throat and looked away from him, her hands returning autonomously to the glass and drying cloth._

___Bran sobered quickly and stood straight again. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I-"_

___"No." The barkeep cut him off. "It's alright. I'm not uncomfortable, just surprised. So many of the newly recruited king's guard come through here. They're all the same, really. Pigs drooling after their next bed partner. No offense to your friends, of course." She had added that last bit in a rush. He smiled at that small sentiment Bran appreciated her efforts in not invoking his anger, although it was not needed. He knew Gaeb fit the bill and Rorick had never rolled in the barn with the young girls back home that he knew of._

___"Where is this wife of yours then, hmm?" She asked suddenly with an slightly accusatory tone. Her eyes were not as brave, however, as they were focused solely on the glass in hand._

___"I haven't found her yet." He lied. Well, it wasn't technically a lie. He had wanted to marry Elsie but hope for that life had walked out of the door long ago. Bran ran his hands over the stubble on his face and through his hair. "What of yourself?"_

___"Oh, I'm too headstrong for most. It comes from working here. I help my mother as she is getting on in age and tends to retire for the night earlier and earlier. We'd lose business if we closed up shop at sundown." She gave Bran a forced smile. "My name is Moira. Moira Blackwood."_

_"____Bran Arnes. Pleased to make your acquaintance " Bran offered an outstretched hand and she accepted, shaking it. Before she pulled away he brushed his mouth over her knuckles and his eyes shown a spark he hadn't felt in some time. He could be charming as hell when he really wanted to be. It would be easy to talk her into shooing the last patrons from their roosts and they both could end up happily entangled in each other by morning._

___Bran laughed softly and looked down. Moira was terrible at cards, indeed. He wondered how often smooth soldiers snaked their way past her guard as he had done and left her before she woke. Releasing her hand, he took a step back. "I should turn in. I'm keeping you from work. I'll...see you in the morning." He turned away from Moira's confused face and took the stairs two at a time. Winter would arrive soon and with that would come less control over his wolf. It worried him how easy it would be to change his mind and return to Moira and the fire he knew they both could ignite._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: **This will be a slow process, so stick with me. I have three beta readers but things are still missed. My apologies.

Warcraft and it's creations belong to Blizzard Entertainment. Atlas is the product of a medicated dream.

"Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up."

- Neil Gaiman, _The Sandman, Vol. 9: The Kindly Ones_

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**Flashback Cont.**

_The day Gaeb, Rorick, and Bran were set to leave with their new orders to join the fight in the Twilight Highlands the sun shone brightly and the sky was clear. The transport gryphons were anxious to stretch their wings which made them difficult to mount. Rorick had a tumble once already while trying to get a feel for how to sit upon one._

_ "__He mounts his ride like he does his women. No skill a 'tall." Gaeb jabbed._

_ Rorick dove for his waist and they both hit the ground rolling and grappling. Bran laughed hard and had a smile that reached his eyes. Someone cleared their throat behind them and both men wrestling froze in place. Bran looked over his shoulder to see Moira standing there, a folded piece of paper in her hand._

_ "__I hope I'm not interrupting anything important…" She stated sarcastically. Both Rorick and Gaeb scrambled to get up and dust themselves off._

_ Bran gave Moira a sheepish grin and two strides brought him within her space. She passed the paper to him and then tongued the corner of her mouth again._

_ "__It's where letters can reach me… __if __you need someone to write while you are away." She moved as if to walk away without an answer, but Bran caught her wrist._

_ "__Of course. I'll write you every day." Bran urged sincerely, seeing the hesitation on her face. "Much better to have words of comfort and normality from a woman than one night of scandal." He added as an afterthought and gave a sharp nod over his shoulder to his comrades._

_ Rorick's face turned scarlet and Gaeb just rolled his eyes. _

_ Moira nodded and silently waved to the other men before hurrying back down the ramp to make sure the inn had not gone up in flames during her brief absence. _

_ Bran put the folded paper in his shirt's breast pocket and finished loading his gryphon. He would be counting the days until their first rotation home._

_ Letters came in bulk to their camp location and he gave one to the courier everyday even though he knew they only headed out on gryphon every few days. Each time he looked forward to what she had to say. Eventually the words exchanged became ones of endearment. Once the courier only delivered one letter and it bore sad news of her mothers passing and the debt that was owed on the inn. Bran gripped the letter tightly while rain pattered down on his leather armor. The highlands were a mess of muddy hills stained red with clay and blood. His soaked hair guided droplets onto the letter, smearing some of the words he had already read. Pulling a hard drag on the paper rolled herb one of the priests who dabbled in herbalism had been selling, he contemplated Moira's situation. _

_ She was going to lose the inn after the hard work that had been put into it. Bran sent a payment to the debtor in Moira's name with a request for anonymity in hopes that it would hold until he could get back. He felt himself growing protective over Moira and a sense of responsibility. After nearly two winters of the harsh war that waged around him, the rotation relief flew in and Bran never packed faster._

_ Once home in Stormwind he did the only thing he'd wanted to do for months. Bran courted Moira as was proper. His next orders kept him close to the city leading security patrols just outside of Elwynn Forest. Bran acquired a quaint house in the city and settled in nicely. Each night he was home he spent it with Moira and all was good. Old scars were fading and Bran found himself wanting to bring another person into his life for good once again._

* * *

Bran stumbled from the bar and walked to that very house he once occupied. The flower boxes in the window now grew only weeds and the windows were in dire need of a cleaning. Someone else lived there now. He couldn't bring himself to keep it after everything that had transpired within the dwelling. He let himself stand there a moment, propped up against the adjacent building.

A year later and it hurt almost as much as it had the day he had returned from a night of patrolling to find his door ajar and slightly off one hinge.

* * *

_Beads of sweat had gathered about his temples and slowly found their way to his jaw line. Bran's hands were tangled in Moira's curls, cupping her head as he lay naked over her equally nude form. He nuzzled her cheek with his nose that was very suggestive behavior of the wolf residing just beneath his skin. He felt Moira smile against his face and they stayed like that for a moment; him still buried deep within her and her thighs pressing in on his hips. Bran wanted to memorize this for when he was stationed out in the fighting, which was extremely likely given the reports coming in._

_ Moira adjusted her hips slightly and it sent a sweet shiver through his body. Bran emitted heat at an alarming rate and a hot bath would definitely be required. His long hair was damp from their love making, as was hers. He wasn't sure if it was her own perspiration or mostly his. Either way his gaze traveled over her face, noting her heavily lidded eyes and finding her beautiful._

_ "__Marry me." Bran froze when the words left his lips. He had not expected to speak the things that were traveling through his mind, but out it had come. He watched as she stilled and gave a stare that bore holes deep into his soul. Her face was unreadable to Bran and it made him feel like he was losing this hand. He withdrew from her body and lay to the left side of her, caressing her bare skin with his fingertips._

_ Moira looked away and bit her bottom lip. "I-, may I have the day to think before answering?" She asked shyly. Several emotions crossed her face at once. "I mean, you are a good man, Bran. There is no doubt of that. I've just been on my own for so long. It's overwhelming to know I don't have to be. This is hard to explain-"_

_ Bran silenced her stammering with his mouth on hers. It was quick but confident and invoked a sigh from Moira."Of course. We have all the time in the world." He placed light kisses across her clavicle and entwined his fingers in hers. He brushed a mark on her forearm and eyed it curiously. "What caused this? I meant to ask when I came in, but we were… preoccupied with other things."_

_ Moira took her hand back and rubbed it on her side. "Just a silly mistake I made at the Inn. It's nothing."_

_ The tension in the room was so thick he could taste it. His unanswered question hung in the air, but Bran had promised her time to think and it presented a good opportunity to take a walk. With a surge of energy he was up and out of bed in search of his clothes. Once he was both dressed, salt laden skin and all, he kissed her forehead. "I'm going for a walk. I might as well see where the patrol is headed tonight… not that it ever changes." With that he slipped in his boots and was out of the house. His gut was twisted in a knot that he attributed to pure nervousness considering the change that would take place in his life. What he did not see was Moira's guilt stricken face as she rubbed the deeply marred tissue on her arm._

_ Rorick was feeding his hound trimmings from the butcher when Bran rounded the corner near the northeast bridge of Old Town district with a smoke hanging from his lips. Gaeb was tossing back a skin of mead and making crude remarks about the animal much to Rorick's irritation._

_ "__Ay! Bran! Tell Rorick 'ere that his mutt's prick wouldn't produce hunting hounds even if he pleasured 'em himself!" Gaeb slurred and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was ignored, however, by his two friends. Nothing good ever came from Gaeb and his drinking unless a brawl broke out. Then Gaeb was handy to have around as he sobered quickly for a good fight._

_ "__I did it. I asked her." Bran let the words rush out and he felt better for it. The weight of it felt as though it had been crushing him the entire walk._

_ Rorick looked up and smiled wide. "Is there a congratulations in order then?"_

_ "__Not yet. I caught her off guard and she needs time." It wasn't a wait Bran was fond of enduring and it was slightly obvious in his tone. Part of him was still afraid of the possibility she would deny him._

_ "__Ugh! You and yer fucking women. Twice now you've had 'orrible taste." Gaeb's face was scrunched in pure disgust that the two other men did not understand. Gaeb corked his mead and stumbled off, swaying alongside of the canal's edge belting out a sombre tune._

_ "__What is his deal? Honestly. I think it's good, Bran. She seems solid, that one." Rorick scrubbed his calloused fingers over the hounds back. The animal stretched appreciatively, drool escaping at a slow drip to the cobblestone._

_ "__Ah, you know Gaeb. __'Women are fer beddin an nothin else!'__" Bran did his best interpretation of Gaeb's constant drunken accent for their amusement. Both men chuckled and Rorick stuck out his hand._

_ "__Good luck to you. I expect we'll make an event of it, assuming she accepts." Rorick and Bran shook hands that ended up a one-armed embrace of the two friends._

_ After bidding Rorick farewell, Bran stepped into the officer's quarters to inspect patrol routes that were tacked on the wall and found them exactly how he had expected; unchanged and a copy of the previous night. Suiting up took only minutes and the horses were already prepped at the stables._

_ As the sun peaked over the horizon the patrol unit was riding their way back over the access bridge of the city and making the change over. Having absolutely no activity, save a few rowdy kobolds and a fox disturbing a farmers livestock, the process was simple and quick._

_ Bran was anxious to get home and see if Moira was still there. He'd decided during the night that he would not bring up the subject of marriage at all and let her come to him about it instead. __When she was ready__, he had mulled, __and only then__._

_ What brought him pause was his front door. It was uneven and loose from the top hinge, but otherwise pushed to. Before grabbing the knob he let his nose check the air. Nothing smelled off. There had been no intruders; just a stray cat that had slept part of the night on the stoop. The door opened with some effort, scraping the frame. Stepping inside, Bran checked the air for scents again but it was the state of the sitting room that alarmed him. Furniture was over turned and broken, the walls bore deep scores in many directions._

_ The growl that took Bran's full attention put ice in his veins. He stilled in place and kept his eyes forward. It was coming from beyond the table where he took his meals. The sound of claws on the wooden floor let Bran know that the worgen in his house was making it's way closer on all fours. He sent his senses on overdrive and could not find the scent of the worgen. The only thing he smelled was his own sweat and Moira._

_ "__Oh gods…" Bran whispered. __Moira__. _

_ She was afflicted with the curse, but how? _I did this…_he realized grimly. Inch by inch Bran lowered himself to the floor to show that he meant her no harm. He cast his eyes to the side in time to see her muzzle coming out of the darkness at his face, her eyes golden and feral. She sniffed his hair hard enough to send it back into his face. With a high whine she retreated and Bran exhaled hard. He let his hand creep out in her direction and stopped when he felt the softness of her pelt. Moira gave a warning growl but Bran did not relent._

_ On a chance that it would help, Bran changed. The beast came to the surface with it's stark blue-green eyes that contrasted greatly with the black fur. The mistake wasn't apparent until Moira had him pinned down and her teeth at his neck. Bran kicked with his feet at her midsection and rolled over her. His instincts were screaming at him to fight, but the human side of him didn't want to hurt her._

_ A second of distraction was all Moira needed to slip his hold and flee from the house. Bran recovered and ran after her, following a startled yelp from an early rising resident and shouts from the guards that walked the city. He could hear the hunting hounds calling out to their masters after being set free. The hunt was on and Bran knew he had to reach her first._

* * *

He choked at his thoughts. He felt his eyes burning with threatening tears but he refused to allow them their escape. After a year Bran never forgot the screams that had erupted from the Trade District and the shot that rang out shortly after. Rorick had deadly aim with his rifle and was not close enough to smell and recognize Moira. Two merchants who had opened stalls early to sell produce had died at her beast's fury. The command to kill the feral worgen had come quickly out of the concern of safety for the rest of the citizens. Two souls had died that day and Bran had refused the change since.

Now he was a shadow of a man; much like his father had been before his death, drowning his sorrows in strongly distilled spirits each night. Rorick tried to visit whenever he could but being one of the best scouts the guard had seen in awhile kept him out in the field. Rorick also carried a great deal of guilt from his actions that day and seeing Bran no doubt reminded him of that.

A few minutes walk brought Bran to the house he now lived in. It was much smaller than the one he'd resided in with Moira but he no longer needed the extra space. He shed his boots and stripped himself of his uniform. It fell to the floor in the living room and he climbed slowly up the stairs to his bedroom. He'd left the window cracked and a flask on the sill. With one hand he pushed the window fully open and it slapped noisily on the outside of the house. His neighbors dog gave a startled bark and finally rested. Bran didn't care about much anymore. He found himself enervated and hollow.

Turning the flask over in his hands, he brushed his thumb over the engraved name of his father. Dredrick had drank himself into the grave during Bran's two years out. Bran had accepted the likelihood of his fathers fate long before it happened. They had grown estranged and Dredrick had changed even more so than he had after his wife's death. Bran questioned if he was meant to follow in those same footsteps. With that he unscrewed the cap and turned it up, only to find the flask void of it's contents.

He stood there at the window like that for some time simply thinking. Bran had been reassigned to manage the stockades as one of the jailers and he suspected it was due to his deteriorating mental health. No one wanted an unstable man at their back when push came to shove in war. It was how good men died on the battlefield and Bran did not blame them. Working the stockades meant he did not have to shift and most of the prisoners were either passive or smart enough to fear a worgen as their keeper.

The glazed over feeling of drunkenness was starting to subside and Bran fumbled for additional bottles. Each one he rescued from beneath furniture and dark corners had been previously drained. It wasn't until he had resigned himself back to the open window did his fingers brush the sidearm he carried. Pulling it from it's leather holster at his hip, he examined the fine craftsmanship of the weapon. Great detail had gone into the metal filigree that lapse the dark wood handle. He used to keep it polished until light reflected off both metal and wood alike but now it was tarnished from sweat and the oil of his hands.

In the second it took for Bran to inhale through his clenched teeth, he had raised the barrel's end to his temple. It was then that he looked out once more and saw a dark figure disappear over the next rooftop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note: Blizzard owns World Of Warcraft.**

**This is taking a bit longer than expected, but I didn't want to rush anything and churn out a sub par chapter. Hang in there, guys. =] There was only one beta reader this time around, so a few things may have been missed. I'll try to catch them as I go.**

He who lusts through life for excess in this world.  
Dies a lonely man, careless of his soul.  
Throwing caution to the wind with foolish ignorance.  
You're full of pride.  
And in arrogance you can't accept the nearing end of this short lived life.

Smile and give a toast, brag and boast.  
Fool the world with all of your lies.  
The parasite's host never even knows.  
Pull the wool over our eyes.

Walk the line and pay the price.  
A pound of flesh for paradise.  
Wear the wounds of your demise.

- 10 Years, Picture Perfect (In Your Eyes)

* * *

Kye watched her footing on the wooden roof tiles as she made her way silently through the city of Stormwind. Everything looked so drab compared to Silvermoon. The battlements were so poorly guarded that she had easily timed her chance to slip over one side shortly upon arriving. It was a new moon tonight and that provided the perfect cover in the night. From what she had scouted from above, everything was closing down and all civilians were tucked in for the night save one human.

She made note of his sidearm and uniform. He was one of the human kings men. Kye paused and quietly watched him as he stopped before one house and waited for a few minutes before heading off again across the street. He disappeared inside of a second house and Kye took off across the rooftops again. It wasn't until she was sneaking around a chimney did the banging of a window catch her off guard, nearly resulting in her plummet to the street. After taking a few deep breaths and steadying her nerves; Kye poked her head up to see where it had come from.

The same man from before leaned dangerously out of the window with a flask in hand. Kye could see he was probably drunk as his dark auburn hair was lazily thrown to one side and a tangled mess. _Bloodelves take more pride in themselves than this human_, Kye thought smugly. Not that she should be singing their praises just yet.

This was a test and a dangerous one. Kye had failed so much in her ranger training that her mentor had pushed her off to the dark alley of the rogues in frustration. She, too, felt frustrated with how things were going. Being just over one hundred years of age and not really adept at much left her to the wayside with her friends who all excelled at magic, bows or blades. Even the socialites only tossed a polite comment or two her way during parties, but would saunter off in their own circles to gab about the latest fashion or gossip. Kye was certain she was being tolerated due to her famiy's wealth and nothing else.

The rogue trainer had looked quite skeptical of Kye's skill. It was no secret that things did not come easy to her and so, many instructors avoided interaction with her. Kye knew that they were only trying to save face. In Silvermoon your image was quite possibly more important than your skills. Lavish parties and all the right people could almost always be found in the usual spots each day and night. Kye had almost given up hope trying to find her niche when the rogue trainer made a wager with her. If Kye could sneak into Stormwind and plant a simple goblin listening device in one of the militia strategy rooms then the rogue would sign off on her training so that she could do whatever she wished. Free time would be hers again with her father non the wiser.

Which brought Kye back around to the roof she was currently clinging to. As soon as she found sure footing, she spared a look to the human once more and saw him handling the sidearm she had spotted holstered at his hip earlier. His face looked... empty. Kye may have not had many dealings with the humans in general, but she recognized the defeat when she saw it. Quietly she used her arms to pull herself up further and wondered what exactly the human was thinking of doing at this late hour.

Her eyes grew in size as he raised the pistol to his head and looked directly at her. The seconds crawled by like hours and Kye felt her heart race. Finally she ducked back down the opposite side of the steep roof and lept to the next building.

_I've been spotted. I'm as good as dead._

* * *

Bran blinked a few times and then jumped into action. Alcohol be damned. He was clothed in his uniform and out his front door in a matter of moments. He could smell the bloodelf on the air and he tracked her. He felt the inner beast beg to be released. Bran bit down on the inside of his mouth in frustration. They both knew he was stronger in his true worgen form. Instead, his boots hit the cobblestones harder in an effort to pick up speed even though he was slightly unsteady. The bloodelf had taken to the ground now, using alleyways. Bran was gaining on her bit by bit as he caught glimpses of her shadow each time she rounded a corner.

Taking a chance on her route and naivety of the city's layout, Bran chose to cut around through the back of the district. The bloodelf slid to a stop in front of him and he tackled her to the ground. She kneed him in the ribs but he fought to trap her wrists to her side so that she could not pull a blade on him.

"Guards!" Bran called out. The bloodelf was not only thin but extremely flexible beneath him and the burning sensation at his ribs let him know she'd been successful in sheating a small dagger into his side. Bran grunted at the pain and looked the elf dead in the eye. For a second both of them stilled. Bran took in her white hair that was sheared off in bits around her chin. The elf's eyes were pale green like that of new spring grass shoots. He could tell she was also looking him over but her attention was focused on the center of his face. Suddenly her head came forehead and collided with his nose. Stars filled his vision and he felt and tasted the blood gush from his twice broken nose as it ran down the back of his throat as well as his face and past his lips he was forced to breathe from.

Three armored guards appeared from the canal walkways to see what the commotion was about. As soon as they realized their jailer had someone detained on the ground they were there at his side with shackles.

Heaving from the chase and the surge of adrenaline, Bran pulled the dagger from his flesh. Bright red blood coated it from tip to hilt and Bran felt his head spin. "Lock her in cell block D. No prisoners are in there. If some have to be moved, do it!" He barked orders to the guards on duty and fought to clear his head. It was aching something fierce in rebellion to the assault and his sudden exercise. "No one touches her! Do you hear me?!..." Bran coughed and gingerly touched his nose, the blood from his hands ended up smeared over his features. A priest had been summoned and he was working quickly to heal Bran's wounds while the guards dragged the bloodelf away. For the first time in a year Bran was super-charged with a purpose. It might have been the drink, the bloodloss or a combination of the two, but he _would_ find out why a spy had been sent to Stormwind.

* * *

Kye paced in her cell. This was bad. What started out as an out to hours of useless training ended up with certain imprisonment. Did the alliance execute spies? She continuously beat herself up over skipping lessons and spending so much time out in the wilds. Now she was caged. _Like an animal, _she thought. That thought alone sent more panic through her veins.

She'd already checked the cell for ways out and it was locked down tight. A guard was posted in the room as well as one near the door. Kye could hear the humans conversing in common tongue and she wished dearly that she knew what they were saying. The language teachings Kye had so easily dismissed would have come in handy right about now.

Two male humans entered the room; one of them considerably larger built. He eyed Kye darkly and it made her shudder. This man would cause her harm, that she had no doubt. She had heard stories of merchant bloodelf women being taken by groups of human militia. The unspeakable things that had been done to them in secret... Kye refused to let herself cry. If either one of them stepped foot into her cell, she was ready to fight with her bare fists.

* * *

If Dredrick did nothing else in his life, he did two important things before passing on. He instilled in his son a deep sense of honor that would reverbrate through Bran's life until the very end. It was Dredricks hope that if Bran had a son, that he too, would pass the teachings a long. The second thing he insisted on was education. Bran could read, write and speak several languages that could only prove beneficial. At times Bran found himself knowing the exact words to express himself in everything but the common tongue. Through these two things, Bran would acquire wisdom; of this Dredrick was certain. They were as poor as farmers in Westfall could be but Dredrick was set on his son rising above and making a better life for himself.

Now it was because of those things that Bran placed himself in charge of the bloodelf spy. He was fluent in Thalassian and that skill would be needed if they wanted to properly interrogate their prisoner. Bran also saw no honor in toture tactics used on women regardless of their race or which side they fought for.

When Bran descended the stairs of the stockades, he tensed at the sound of Gaeb's voice traveling down the halls. With a sense of urgency Bran quickened his strides to bring him to the door of the last cell block. They'd placed the bloodelf in a section of cells by herself. Most of their other prisoners were lacking in morales and their prescense as well as catcalls would make interrogating her difficult.

"I say we rough 'er up a bit first and see if we can take that smirk off 'er pretty little face." Gaeb sported a smirk of his own as he eyed the white-haired elf up and down.

Bran knew him all too well and was painfully aware of the thoughts racing through Gaeb's perverted mind. "No one... will be laying a hand on her." Bran let the authority in his voice echo throughout the room with his hands in fists at his side. The effect had the elf's attention on Bran in a flash and her green eyes narrowed. Bran spared her a glance and she returned it with an angry glare.

"Listen to 'em, Rorick. Sounds like he's crawled outta that bottle he's been living in." Gaeb turned to face Bran. Scars lined Gaeb's face with one particularly red one from his temple to his chin.

Bran stood there, unable to speak. They had grown up together and yet, Bran almost didn't recognize the man in front of him. It wasn't only his appearance that had been altered, but the worst of his personality had won out as well. "Gaeb... It's good to see you made it back."

Gaeb looked over his shoulder at the elf and winked just once before pushing past Bran as he left.

"He's different, Bran..." Rorick had an almost horrified look in his eyes from the encounter. "I didn't even know his ship had made it into port."

Bran gently touched his fingers to his nose. It was the one thing he hadn't let the priest heal and the injury caused his speech to have a congested sound to it. "We'll need to sit watch on her. I have a feeling that he is dying to get revenge on something and a woman from the enemy side in a cage is just too easy."

"Agreed. Not a peep from her, but from the looks she is giving you, I'd say she's pissed. The smell of fear is flowing off of her in waves, though." Rorick nodded to Bran and whistled for his canine companion.

Bran scratched his unshaven face a moment before grabbing a wooden chair and placing it near the cell. He sat in it backwards and rested his face on his arms. It had been a long night and he was worn to the bone. Drinking himself to sleep each night definitely did not come without it's downsides.

He watched the elf watch him with seething eyes and said nothing. Bran studied her for several long minutes. Half of him was waiting on her to show some sign before he pulled his rabbit from the hat and spoke to her in her own tongue and the other half was giving his body time to completely process his drink.

The elf looked away from Bran suddenly but he caught the slight quiver in her bottom lip and the sudden mist in her eyes. He knew that elves lived much longer than humans and so their age of maturity was significantly older. Bran had rarely spent time in the company of elves save those on the alliance side who served with him. Culture and social hiearchy had not been something to come up in conversation. The night elves were mostly quiet and only spoke when they had something worth saying. It often came off to the humans as snobbery, but Bran knew the difference between snobbery and wisdom. That wasn't to say some didn't tip their nose in the air from time to time, but overall, they were simply the private sort.

It was a good guess that this bloodelf was young and just beyond the precipice of maturity if she allowed that much emotion to show on her face. Bran guessed that it would only take a few days to wear her down into talking. He'd give her this whole first day with silence and minimal rations and then tackle her nerves tomorrow.

Rorick returned upon the next hour to relieve Bran. "You should eat and get some rest."

"I will, thank you," Bran said. "All you have to do is make sure she doesn't escape and no one unwanted comes in." He didn't need to include names for both of them to mentally land on the same person.

Once home, Bran poured a steaming bath and soaked. His lazy muscles that had been punishing him for the drunken chase sighed in relief. He relinquished his bath in favor of a needed nap and ate bread and cheese from the pantry when he woke a few hours later. Just after dressing for the second time that day, he thought of what he could do to win the pale elf over. Considering what most women enjoyed having on hand, Bran sought out the box of Moira's things he had kept. In a wooden box stowed away under his bed was a piece of jewelry, a small bottle of perfume and a hairbrush.

Bran removed the hairbrush carefully and brought it to his nose. It barely smelled of Moira now, only faintly. For a moment he tried to feel some sort of pain at the thought of giving away an item that reminded him of her. All that came was a ever deepening pit of emptiness that proceeded the brief ache in his chest. There was nothing left in him to grieve.

He cleaned the horse hair and stuck the brush in his pack as a future playing card. It wasn't long after tidying up the mess he had made that Bran headed back to the stocks. Rorick was just as he had left him in the chair, whittling wood into arrow shafts to pass the time.

"You missed some words from that one," Rorick said and used the blade in his hand to point to his right.

"Oh?" Bran gave a sideways glance to the elf. "Anything relevent?"

"Mumbling. Mostly insults and nonsense. None of it sounded like a plea or question." Rorick stood from the chair and his hunting companion came to attention at his side.

"I'll take it from here then. Sleep well, friend." Bran patted Rorick on the back as he passed. Once they were alone Bran pulled the hairbrush from his pack and fiddled with it a bit. It caught the bloodelf's attention as she eyed it warily. "_You can have it if you would like," _Bran stated in Thalassian.

This garnered a startled look from the elf. Her eyes were wide and her expression surprised. Instead of speaking she whipped her head away from Bran and focused on the air in front of her. Bran could hear her heart race and could see her swallow several times.

"_I'll just leave it here._" Bran slid the brush through the bars with one hand across the floor and then went back to occupy the wooden chair. The brush continued to remain untouched.

It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors note:**** You may want to skip this one if you are squeamish and do not care to read about the assault of a woman. **

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Her stomach turned in knots as she sat on the stone floor of the jail with her knees pulled up to her chest. Kye had never been in this position before and had no idea on how to get out of it. She'd made a huge mess of things and wasn't sure if she'd ever see home again. The man who had captured her was infuriating. He'd offered a brush for her hair and it remained where he had left it. Every so often Kye would steal a glance at his stilled form.

He sat in a similar manner as she; but like a statue, silent and unmoving with his eyes closed. The only evidence of life was the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the muscle in his jaw as it clenched and unclenched. He no longer reeked of drink and his hair was slightly damp from a bath. This time when he cracked an eyelid to look at Kye she did not turn away.

"_You're too young to be out scouting in an alliance city._" The man turned to face her cell and crossed his legs.

Kye's eyes narrowed at his near perfect Thalassian. It took a double check of his ears to make sure he was not half-elf. No, he'd be far fairer and softer lines of the face in addition to elongated ears. Conflicting emotions passed over Kye as she tried to decide whether or not to speak. Finally, fear won out in favor for survival. For the time being she chose to ignore the jab at her age.

"_Who taught you the blood elf tongue?_" she inquired more out of curiosity than anything else.

"_My father._"

"_He is not of my kind,_" she stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"_No. He _was_ not._"

There was a sad edge to his voice and Kye decided it was best to leave well enough alone. This man was clearly broken, but still managed to give off a sense of calm confidence and she found it troublesome. The outlook was grim at best and it made her sick.

"_I'm going to be executed._" Her voice cracked and she chastised her lack of control. Scrubbing her hands over her face she swallowed hard and looked back at him. The stare from his blue eyes was a deep and unnerving one that cut through her.

"_My name is Bran._" He turned his head to the side and his eyes narrowed. "_Why did you come to Stormwind?_"

"_It was requested of me._" Kye did not know why she was laying it all out. She had hopes that instead of damning her, the truth would aid her. If released she swore to herself that she would go back to apprentice classes and never skip out on another lesson again.

"_By whom?_"

"_Does it matter?_"

"_To me it does. If you cooperate I can lobby for your release under the condition that your __intentions were innoxious._" His hands slowly gripped the bars of her cell and she bravely covered one with her own.

"_Then I am to die and you can not help me, Bran._" Kye let her hand drop and she turned to face the wall. The last of her strength gave way and allowed the desperation to flow freely. Between gulps of air she heard him sigh and return to his original resting position.

After awhile the crying subsided and gave way to weariness. Hours passed and her captor was relieved of watching her by another soldier she had not seen before. They spoke in the common human language and Kye was left to circle her fate in her mind.

The scarred man from before stopped in to spit into her cell and taunt her. His behavior was halted by the guard standing watch and words were tossed in angry tones by the two. Kye wondered if he was the executioner, eager to have her head.

Small meals were placed just inside the door of her large cage and Kye picked at them over the course of the day. When the sun began slanting to the ceiling and Kye was lying on her side and attempting sleep, Bran returned. He was dressed a bit more casually than before but better groomed. The smell of wood smoke clung to him and it permeated her nose sweetly. After he propped his feet upon the small table the guards had used to take meals and play cards Kye truly drifted off.

Hours later whispers woke her and she dared to open one eye. Bran was speaking with the lithe hunter who's shadow was a Gilnean tracking canine. Their conversation was strained and the hunter was speaking quickly and in hushed tones as he repeatedly looked over his shoulder at the door.

Bran's eyes flicked to hers and he dismissed the hunter, taking his place on the floor with a knife and a wooden figure in his hand. Kye sat up and readied herself for more talk.

_"My friend there believes things are not going so well for you. There are talks of forcing your cooperation." _The words fell from his mouth calmly and it made Kye tremble.

_"I'm a terrible hunter and a worse rogue,"_ Kye babbled uneasily. It was time to tell her story and hopefully save whatever life she had left. Her father was going to be furious and she would lose all reputation within Silvermoon. Assuming she even made it back, that is. _"My mentor gave me an out. If I could secure a device in a room of interest here then I would be set free and not held to any more lessons."_

His breath whooshed from between his lips as Bran leaned back against the wall and looked into nothing. _"This... this is not good. What kind of device?"_

_"A goblin listening device. I tossed it in a drain pipe when I fled."_

_"What did they plan to do with the intel they received from it?"_

_ "I don't know. I swear, I don't know. If I did, I would tell you now." _Her heart was pounding as she spilled her secrets to Bran and a knot formed in her stomach. Hope was a dangerous thing to have. It could eat a person up inside yet she clung to it nevertheless.

"I believe you." He turned his gaze on her and part of her wanted to die when she saw the sadness he held for her. "I will tell no one of this. For what it is worth, you have a shit mentor."

A snort left Kye and in the next second she was crying, leaning her forehead against the bars in relief. She wasn't out of the woods yet but she could almost see the light of freedom. Warmth caressed her hair and she looked up to see his outstretched hand.

_"Don't cry. This was a game. A game among friends where they dared you to travel from one side of the city to the other. That is all."_ He nodded as he spoke and his eyes urged her to agree.

_"Yes, yes, oh gods yes. It was just some stupid child game."_

_ "Don't make me regret this."_

_ "I wont. I swear it. Please." _She didn't know whether to be happy or become ill at her brush with looming death. Why was this human helping her? She was the enemy, was she not? No matter, she would never come back to this gods-forsaken land ever again if she could help it.

Bran stood and dusted his clothes off. Kye jumped when his voice boomed through the room and a guard appeared within seconds, saluting Bran. After brief and sharp words that Kye could only guess were orders the guard disappeared. He turned back to Kye in the cell.

_"They are sending word to have your release signed. I have to be present to testify that your actions were harmless and then I will escort you out and to neutral territory."_

Kye was to her feet in seconds. _"Thank you! Thank you! I don't know how I can repay you."_

_ "You can do so by taking my words seriously about never returning." Bran's_ lips were pressed in a line and his jaw rigid. Kye only nodded and looked to the floor.

The hunter returned once more, sleep in his eyes and without his animal. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head before taking a seat on the lone chair. He pulled a worn hat down on his face and crossed his arms over his chest.

Bran sidled up to her cell. _"Rorick is going to watch you while I go and deal with the formalities. You wouldn't believe the amount of paperwork I have to do,"_ he joked. _"Breathe easy blood elf. You have dodged a major bullet this day."_

_"Kye."_

_"Excuse me?" _Bran cocked a brow at the sudden change of topic.

_"My name is Kye. You told me yours. I feel it should be returned considering the circumstances." _Kye bit her lower lip and watched his expression soften.

_"Your name suits you Kye." _He turned on his heel and strode from the room.

She slid to the floor of her cell and smiled. Someone had been watching over her today. She would make sure she lived up to her freedom once it was secured. Sparing a glance at the hunter, she took note of his limp arm dangling from the chair he now slept in. The hunter had never slept while on watch. His chest was barely moving with his shallow breaths.

A devious chuckle sounded from the doorway and Kye found the scarred man from before leaning against the frame, picking his nails with a knife. Turning back to the sleeping hunter she called out and attempted to stick her arm through the bars to try and shake him. He sat just out of reach and the brute knocked her arms so hard, she worried a bone had been fractured.

Out of his pocket came a key, the very one to her cell. He inserted it into the lock and entered, closing the door behind him. The look in his eyes was dark and his smirk only made uglier by the puckered scars on his face. As his hands untied the leather straps on his breeches, Kye's eyes widened in horror.

Something in her stilled then. Kye refused to be a helpless victim. With no weapons, she could only hope to deter him with her fists and teeth long enough for Bran to return or the hunter to wake. It was unclear to her as to if the hunter was poisoned or only drugged.

A hand shot forward and wrapped itself in her hair quicker than she could react. Kicking with her legs, the man brought her against him and down to the dirty floor of the cell. Kye screamed and spit in his face which only made her attacker more furious. His fist connected with her temple and she swore he had struck her with a stone. White spots appeared before her eyes and a wave of unconsciousness threatened to overtake her.

Fighting with her hands, Kye clawed at his face blindly and was met with laughter. He had her leather breeches down at her thighs and she could feel his greasy prick pressing against the soft flesh of her lower abdomen. Tears streamed down her face and over the throbbing knot she now sported on the left side.

A roar from the doorway stilled her attackers advances. She watched him roll his eyes and growl before jumping to his feet and whirl around to face the source of the sound.


End file.
